


stay (you are my soulmate)

by Anonymous



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 7 Things, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Attempt at Humor, Barista!George, Canon Compliant, Dogboys, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mermaid!George, Mermaids, Multiple Dimensions, Multiple Universes, OOC characters maybe?, OOPS MY BAD, Pre-Relationship, Seven Minutes In Heaven Game, Sharing a Bed, Soulmates, Witch!George, YO DEADASS DONT KNOW HOW SHARING A BED GOT IN HERE, alas life works in mysterious ways, domestic bliss!au, familiar!dream, i tried my best kings, it’s kind of sad honestly but i really Do Not Know dnf, jock!dream, mermaid!au, multiple aus all in one au!, my hand slipped and suddenly they were in bed tgt, nerd!George, ok now for the Tags, probably not two things you would ever think to see together in the same fic, so like ngl i think i subconsciously projected another ship onto this, so like this totally could be my first jikook fic if you just . changed some details, this is the first time jikooks been tagged in a mcyt fic isn’t it, yes you read that right it’s 7mih in 2020 folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28362234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Life seemed to shove Dream and George together, through universes and dimensions, like rubber bands knotted together, bands that always bounced back to each other, no matter how far they got pulled apart.-or, seven lives that dreamnotfound meet in.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 174
Collections: Anonymous





	stay (you are my soulmate)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [my secret santa sugar bb who WONT TELL ME HER FUCKING AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=my+secret+santa+sugar+bb+who+WONT+TELL+ME+HER+FUCKING+AO3), [dreams_sweatshirt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreams_sweatshirt/gifts).



> happy crimmus i never though id be writing rpf again but here we fuckin are
> 
> this is a gift to one of my hoes i hope u like this i slaved over this shit and im not even in the fandom I Have To Cry
> 
> to any other readers who is not my secret santa sugar baby: yes u heard that right i am not in the mcyt fandom the only video i have ever watched of either dream or george is like . half of his colorblind video so yes there may be some things that are Wrong here 
> 
> i did get another friend who is into mcyt to proofread this for me and he says its okay mostly so like ,,, feel free to yell at me in the comments if u don't agree w anything and ill pass on the message/change the fic maybe
> 
> anyway the only reason i wrote this was for my bb who rlly likes dnf okay so i apologise in advance for any mistakes although i did try my best to do research !! just ,, w/o actually watching them oops
> 
> also the title is from friends by bts bc vmin soulmates wbk

##### 1.

George has a bruise on his cheek.

It’s faded; barely noticeable, really, but it’s there, and it sticks out to Dream like a flashing siren would. His eyes latch onto it as George walks across the room in quick strides.

Something uncomfortable stirs in his stomach at the sight, like thorns rising to prickle his insides. _Act normal,_ he tells himself while George puts down his bag.

“You look like shit,” Dream says, looking up at him as he slides into his seat. _Fuck, was that too casual?_

George smiles, albeit a bit wearily, and pulls out his textbook. “Good morning to you too, love.”

Dream tries to find something to say, pushing down the immediate thoughts that swell to the forefront of his mind, stupid things like _why do you put up with this_ or _run away to Hawaii with me_ , and instead chancing a “Are you okay?”

There. That’s okay. Just a boyfriend expressing his concern. Nothing out of the ordinary.

George blinks. “Yes?”

“Okay, that’s… good to know.” Dream gives him a carefully loose smile.

George opens his mouth to speak, but a loud _bang!_ interrupts, drawing their attention to the front of the class, where some kid’s scrambling to retrieve his files and books scattered across the floor.

“Why do you ask?” George inquires, eyes still fixed on the mess at the entrance of the classroom.

Nonchalantly, Dream shrugs. The thorns in his stomach curl. “No reason.”

George hums at that, eyeing him for a while before eventually taking his words at face-value and turning back to his textbook.

He pushes down his thoughts. If George isn’t willing to tell him, there was no way in hell he’d try to force it out of him.

There’s still time till the bell rings, so Dream spends his time tracing the delicate lines of George’s face with his gaze. 

His eyes linger on the light purple adorning his left cheekbone, right below his eye.

He’s going to find out, he decides then. _Soon._

* * *

##### 2.

  
  


“Holy shit. You’re a,“ Dream pauses and swallows. “You’re a _mermaid.”_

The boy in the water snorts. The scales running up his jaw and around his collarbones glint a pretty turquoise in the dwindling light. He speaks with an accent that Dream can't really place right now. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Dream blinks, _hard,_ then repeats, “Holy shit, you’re a mermaid.”

The mermaid — merman? — smiles then, showing off rows of sharp, shark-like teeth. His tail flicks in the water behind him, giving him a glimpse of a blue, shimmery fin. It kind of reminds Dream of how a cat would sway its tail. “Yes, yes, you’ve said that.”

Rocking back on his elbows, Dream slumps onto the sandy wooden planks. “Do you — do you do this often?” He gestures to the two of them. “Do you show yourself to humans often?”

“Just the pretty ones,” the mermaid replies in what Dream guesses is supposed to be a cheeky tone, but comes out more menacing, given that he’s still baring his teeth, teeth that look like they could tear through skin and flesh easily.

Despite him, Dream flushes, then scowls inwardly. _Get it together._

He exhales. “Right, okay. Thanks, I think?” He tries for a smile but it probably (definitely) comes out a little forced.

The creature doesn’t reply, so he takes the chance to glance around the piers.

The beach is empty of people, just as it was when he’d originally arrived, and just how he likes it. Fairy lights leftover from some party some number of nights ago still twinkle in the palm trees. The sun is beginning to set, hanging just above the horizon.

It’s beautiful out here. If this were a normal evening, he’d be spending it alone, walking slowly across the beach, sitting down on the boardwalk to dip his toes into the water.

He snaps his gaze back to the mermaid in front of him, who wears an expression of patient expectancy, like he’s been allowing him time to let it all sink in. Deciding to use the most basic of courtesies, he clears his throat.

“So, uh, what’s your name?” His voice comes out more wobbly than he would ideally want, but it’s a start.

The mermaid brightens, lifting his head from where it rested on his arms. “I’m George,” He says. “What about you?”

“You can call me Dream.”

George snorts then. “Doesn’t sound like a name a human would have.”

Bristling, he retorts, “Well, your name doesn’t sound like a name a mermaid would have.”

“How would you even know what a mermaid name sounds like?”

“I don’t know, but _George_ doesn’t seem like a mermaid name.”

“Well, that’s too bad, because I am a mermaid, and my name is George.” He punctuates his statement with a swish of his tail that makes water splash up. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise?” Dream still doesn’t really know what’s happening. For all he knows this could just be a dream. Maybe he’s hallucinating the entire thing.

The sun sets, bathing the world around him in a pretty orange light. It’s like he’s living life in a filter, and it’s kind of exhilarating. He’s been here many times to experience the sight, and he’ll never really get tired of it.

George murmurs something, and Dream’s eyes flicker over to him on instinct — just for a second, but that’s all it takes.

George looks positively _ethereal._

Dream has never really been into art, but holy shit, looking at George now makes him want to learn to paint, if just to depict how perfectly the tawny light reflects off his skin and scales, to carve out the elegant bone structure of his face, to capture the soft, dangerously beautiful smile on his features as he marvels at the sun.

Something about how everything has fallen so bizarrely, yet so perfectly into place — the sun setting in the background, the peacefulness of the beach, the unrealistically pretty boy watching the sunset with him — it makes Dream’s heart speed up.

He remembers something about how sirens of old lured sailors to their deaths with their beauty and voices, and he can’t help but think he must be feeling at least a little bit like how they felt, completely entranced, before they died.

Morbid thing to think about. He shakes the thought away and focusses back on the present.

Here. Now. With the sun setting. On a normal Friday. Except it’s not normal because there’s a mermaid keeping him company.

Okay.

No big deal.

God, but he really can’t take his eyes off him.

Neither of them really speak, until the sun dips below the horizon and the beach is plunged into blue.

It’s then that George turns to him, eyes bright, and says, “It really was lovely meeting you, but I’m afraid I have to go now. It’s getting dark and I need to get back to my pod.” He straightens, pushing off of the pier he’d been leaning on.

Dream nods dumbly. Ah. He needs to go. Dream feels vaguely disappointed.

“Perhaps I’ll see you soon. Another time,” He says, smiling. He waves, and with a shimmer of blue and turquoise, he turns tail and becomes just another nameless creature in the vast ocean, gliding beneath the waves.

Dream waves back. Another time, he repeats to himself as he gets up and begins the walk back to the house. Another time.

Dream is proud to say that the next time he meets George, he doesn't fall over and scramble back in fright like the first time. He only falls over, and he considers that improvement.

* * *

##### 3.

Fall on their uni campus always feels like one of those generic Windows 10 login screens, one of those shots of nature that seem so pristine and perfectly picturesque. It seems so inorganic, almost like someone’s painstakingly put together this perfect image that Dream walks in now, and he finds it unnervingly beautiful.

The air is crisp with chill that hasn’t swelled to a biting cold yet, and orange, frayed leaves fall to the brown-speckled ground slowly, as if the trees themselves are willing this moment to go by as unhurriedly as it possibly can.

As Dream stares down at his hand, interlocked with George’s, he can’t help but share the same sentiment.

George looks… _soft_ , is the only word Dream can currently think of to describe him. His boyfriend’s all bundled up in a thicker coat than normal, and his blue scarf is loose around his neck. His cheeks and nose are flushed red from the cold, and Dream resists the urge to just plant kisses all over his face.

They’re heading back to George’s dorm to finish up some work for George’s programming class — which really just means they’re going to end up cuddling and bingeing some shitty Netflix original series just to complain about how shit it is.

Dream thought George was cute when they first met; attractive after getting to know each other more; pretty when George first grinned at him head-on, all teeth; beautiful on their first date; and now — breathtaking.

His eyes wander along his jawline and dart to his lips before eventually looking back in front of him to watch where he’s going. This ensures he doesn’t get distracted by his boyfriend and accidentally walk into a lamppost or something. (It’s happened before, and George and their other friends clowned him for a month afterwards. Dream isn’t keen on it happening again.)

He feels the beginnings of a smile quirk his lips. Despite the cold, he feels all warm and fuzzy inside. 

It’s cheesy and cliché, but his heart actually squeezes whenever he looks down at the boy beside him, and _holy shit he thinks he might love him_ —

He pauses. Lets George lead him by the hand, mind whirling.

Does he really love him? (Yes.)

Is it too soon? (It’s been three months, which is probably long enough.)

Would he reciprocate? (Only one way to find out.)

They’re reaching the dorms. Dream climbs the steps leading up to the entrance on autopilot, still clutching onto George’s hand. It’s like he’s in a trance; a haze of _yes he should_ and _fuck no he shouldn’t_ mixing up his thoughts and making it hard for him to deal with his emotions.

What to do, what to do, what to do —

“Are you okay?” George says, voice cutting clearly through his thoughts.

He has that effect on Dream. One line and he’s able to clear his mind, just like that. In hindsight, it’s one of the reasons he loves him.

Dream stops and takes a quick glance back.

He looks back at the autumnal computer screensaver scene he’s just stepped out of, marvels at it for a little while longer, then he looks back down at their hands, before finally dragging his gaze up to meet George’s eyes.

He doesn’t want this moment to end.

This space in time feels so delicate, like Dream could breathe too hard and it’d collapse, like he could hold it too tightly and it’d break, like he could say something wrong and the scene would shatter into a million tiny fractals.

He doesn’t want it to break.

So he doesn’t say it. He forces down the declaration that’s bubbling on the tip of his tongue, shoves back the urge to proclaim how much he means to him, _controls himself._

“I’m fine,” He says, giving him a small smile. “Let’s go up.”

George gives him a look that says he isn’t convinced, but he tugs Dream away and the two of them get back to his dorm room without further protest.

Dream promises himself that he’ll say it soon.

* * *

##### [ _interlude_ ]

And somewhere along the lines, they start to remember, just a little bit.

* * *

##### 4\. 

“Order for —” George blinks, and takes a closer look at the name scribbled on the cup.

Fact: Sapnap’s handwriting is atrocious. Also a fact: it’s not the best idea to read out customer names incorrectly. Together, these two facts coexist in a way that makes George’s job as a barista _painful_ at times.

Times like now. _Is that a D or a G?_

He squints at the scrawl, before opening his mouth to call out, albeit very unsurely, “Uh, Gream? Dream?” 

“That’s me!” He hears someone answer; sees a blur of movement as someone eases their way through the small crowd to stop at the front counter.

He looks up and locks gazes with a yellow-eyed _giant_. (Okay, his eyes are probably actually green. Or he could be wearing contacts.)

Okay, so maybe he isn’t exactly a giant, given that he only looks to be less than five inches taller than George himself, but he still towers over what seems to be half the coffeeshop's current occupancy, so he’s definitely above average height.

Dirty blonde curls are swept messily to the side, revealing a smattering of freckles across pale cheeks, like constellations on his skin. Add the soft, half-embarrassed smile that the boy gives him to the mix, and George is in a full-fledged state of Gay Panic, because _oh no he’s hot._

George is struck with the weirdest feeling — like he’s seen this stranger before, but he just doesn’t know where.

The two of them stare at each other for a few seconds before the logical part of George’s brain interrupts to tell him that _hey, maybe he should be giving the hot customer his order instead of staring at him like a moron_ , and George’s body startles into motion, robotically holding out his drink to him like a peace offering.

To George’s simultaneous delight and chagrin, the man does not break the eye contact as he reaches out and takes it from his hands, muttering a “Thanks,” and wow, he sounds American, and wow, does George have a voice kink?

_The more you know_ , George thinks idly as the hot stranger — Dream? Gream? — turns and leaves, but not before sneaking a glance back at George when he thinks he’s not looking.

George is, of course, staring right back at him, and Dream/Gream flushes when he gets caught, turning and rushing away.

George feels something warm bubble up in his stomach. Dazedly, he returns to his duties, wondering if he should’ve scribbled down his number on Dream/Gream’s coffee cup or something.

The next day, he shows up again, and he stays long enough for George to learn that his name is Dream.

* * *

##### 5.

Dream’s the star quarterback of the school, their pride and joy. He’s an all-rounder, good in not just football, but other sports like basketball and soccer, and he’s also surprisingly smart. Just to make it even more clear that God _clearly_ picks favourites, he’s also considered one of — if not the most — attractive guys in school.

Compared to that, George’s just some random kid who spends way too much time in the computer labs. A nerd, some would say.

They’re worlds apart, so archetypically different it’s actually painfully cliché.

So there is no way on earth that they should end up getting locked in the same stupid closet, playing the same stupid game of Seven Minutes In Heaven, sitting on the same stupid floor, so close that their shoulders are touching because this stupid closet is so _goddamn_ _small._

But George’s always had the worst luck.

“It smells like wet mop in here,” Dream says abruptly, breaking the silence. 

When George chances a glance over at him, Dream’s eyes are wide and he has a hand over his mouth, leading him to believe he hadn’t actually meant to say that out loud.

After a second or two of awkward stillness passes, George takes pity on him. “I suppose it does,” he replies, and immediately chastises himself for it. _‘I suppose it does’? God, how lame can you get?_

They lapse into another silence, rife with tension.

He tries to ignore how he can feel the body heat radiating off Dream acutely in the close proximity, tries to ignore how they’re the perfect height difference for George to lean his head comfortably on his arm, tries to ignore how flushed Dream had looked when the bottle had landed on him and the _look in his eyes —_

Okay, okay, Jesus. Get it together.

George wishes he had a watch or his phone right now.

As he’s trying to estimate how many more minutes they have left in this dumb game that he honestly can’t believe people still play (seriously, how old is this game?), Dream speaks again.

“I’m sorry about just now,” He says, but his tone is so rushed it comes out more like _I’msorryaboutjustnow._

George peers at him cautiously, waiting for him to elaborate. “What do you mean?” He says after a brief pause.

“Like,” Dream gestures, his movements only illuminated by the minimal light coming in from the crack of space between the floor and the door. “You know, just now, when we got picked for—” he flounders around, and the image of a reddened Dream flashed into his mind’s eye again, leading George to flush too (because holy shit that is a _cute_ image) and scowl inwardly.

“—this whole game,” Dream continues on, oblivious to the minor crisis George is having next to him, “Right, so, uh, I’m sorry on behalf of my friends and how they acted.”

He pauses then, seemingly waiting for George’s reply.

George just blinks. _What?_ “What?”

Dream gestures, actions a bit more anxious and frenzied now. “You know, they were kind of… laughing, and stuff.”

Ah. Right.

Given their obvious difference in terms of social status and ranking in the school hierarchy, Dream’s friends — the other popular kids — had snickered loudly and jeered at the two of them, muttering comments to an embarrassed Dream and laughing uncontrollably, only stopping shortly after the click of the closet door lock was heard.

Frankly, George would be surprised if they hadn’t acted that way. Even if one were to look past their obvious disparity in social stature, the popular kids were just that — popular kids. Rowdy, mean, annoying popular kids.

Having been through his fair share of bullying, whether it be due to his appearance or his perceived ‘nerdiness’, George was pretty unbothered by the initial reaction to the bottle choosing him to be Dream’s partner. Still is, actually.

But it is really sweet that Dream would think to apologise, and he says as much.

“Don’t worry about it,” George says, turning his head to face Dream. “It’s not the first time I’ve been made fun of because I’m not popular or cool like the lot of you are, and it won’t be the last. I tend to not take it personally. I appreciate you apologising, though.”

George can’t really see that well, but he thinks Dream’s just raised his eyebrows, an expression of… confusion (?) on his face.

“Uh…” Dream looks like he’s struggling with something.

“Hm?”

“They weren’t making fun of you because of that.” Dream says this slowly, like he’s trying to let it sink in.

George eyes him. “Right,” he replies, decidedly unconvinced.

“No, seriously. They weren’t making fun of you because you’re a —” He raises his hands to make air quotes. “— ‘nerd’.”

“Fine, then they were laughing at how I look. I don’t get how this matters.”

Dream shakes his head resolutely. “Nope.”

George scoffs, getting a bit frustrated because honestly, he’d rather just drop this entire topic. “Then what could they possibly be laughing at?”

Dream pauses, before eventually saying, “They were laughing at me.”

“Well, yeah —”

“No, hear me out.” He takes a breath. “They were laughing at me because I… I have a — I have a _thing_ for you.”

There’s a brief silence, in which George is trying to process the words that just came out of Dream’s mouth.

Dream: star quarterback, pride and joy of the school, all-rounder, most attractive guy in the student body, has a thing for George?

George? As in him? The nerd/geek/loser?

“What the _fuck_?” George blurts.

It’s dark, but he swears he sees the red in Dream’s cheeks. Hell, he swears Dream can see the red in George’s too.

“I just,” Dream struggles to explain himself. “I don’t know, it’s just like — like I feel this draw to you that I can’t really explain. It’s like I was — like I was meant to know you.” He exhales. “As sappy as that sounds.”

George is still lost for words, mouth hanging open. Dream takes the silence as a green light to continue. 

“And I don’t know, I just — you’re cute. Like, really cute. And smart too. We share a few classes, but I never really got the chance to talk to you. Plus, I thought maybe you’d think that I was playing a joke on you or something, if I asked you out.” Dream scratches his head. “So I never really approached you or anything. But we’re both here now, and I just figured, ‘hey, what better time than now to confess?’ So, uh, yeah.”

By now, George has (mostly) managed to regain his composure. “How can I be sure you’re not pulling a fast one on me now?”

Dream nudges at George’s shoulder with his own, before softly saying, “I promise you I’m not.”

He sounds so real, so genuine, that it makes George soften just a bit.

“Alright then, assuming you are telling the truth,” George says, open but wary, “I’m flattered you think of me that way.” He finds himself blushing again. “I, uh, think you’re cute too.”

“Really?” Dream’s tone turns from incredulous to flirty so fast it almost gives George whiplash. “Is that so?”

George is about to reply when a heavy knock sounds on the door.

“One minute left, lovebirds!” Someone yells outside, before walking away. Their footsteps get further and further away before disappearing entirely, and it’s only then that Dream asks, “Will you go out with me?”

George doesn’t reply at first, because he’s too busy having an internal breakdown at his words.

“As in, on a date,” Dream clarifies unnecessarily.

George attempts to sound calm and collected when he replies with a “Are you sure you’re not trying to humiliate me by asking me out then standing me up?”

Dream sounds offended. “Of course not.”

There’s a brief silence in which George weighs the pros and cons. Dream looks like he’s sweating buckets.

George smiles then, small. “Okay, then. One date, and we’ll see where it goes.”

Dream smiles back at him. “Okay.”

* * *

##### 6.

George finds Dream the same way most witches find their familiars - a spontaneous meeting while he’s out on his errands.

The only difference is that Dream isn’t a typical, run-of-the-mill black cat, or toad, or even a raven.

He’s a wolf.

Traditionally, any kind of canine isn’t good for witchcraft. Wolves have always had their own magic, their own rituals separate from the covens of old, and their domesticated cousins, dogs, are often seen with humans, and very rarely, mages.

Yet Dream is a wolf, and he quite literally poofed into existence right before George’s eyes on a typical Sunday afternoon, while he was on his way back from work. 

At first George assumed it was a mistake. After all, a canine, much less a wolf, as a witch familiar? It was practically unheard of. Then the wolf wouldn’t stop following him around.

No matter where George went — whether he was at home mixing up potions, on the subway on his way to work, or at the market haggling for lower ingredient prices — the wolf would follow, apparating here and there. Sometimes he attempted to be surreptitious, other times not so much.

After the third week, George eventually gave up and accepted him as his familiar, welcoming him into his home.

He named him Dream, because the whole thing — a _wolf as a familiar?_ — felt kind of like a dream. Was it a weak name? Okay, yeah, but it was better than something like Garth, or Clay, or something.

Now Dream just hangs around and allows George to draw from his energy whenever he needs to cast a spell or make potions more potent in their functions.

He’s really docile for a wolf (or at least George assumes so, given that meeting Dream was his very first interaction with one) and as George comes to find, is always pristine and does not need to be cleaned, no matter how much he romps around in the day.

The wolf has a soft coat of grey fur and a brown, tagless collar around his scruff. His non-magic friends who’ve met him say that he looks exactly like a typical wolf from one of the video games they play, and George has no idea what to do with that information.

He adjusts to his slightly changed life fairly easily, and as a whole, his work gets easier, now that he has an extra magic reserve always ready to be tapped on. Also, it’s a lot less lonely on cold, stormy nights with a furry friend by his side.

Then he miscalculates crucial quantities while making a very potent, very volatile potion -- adds too much phoenix feathers here, skimps on the fairy dust there (in his defence, he was running low, and fairy dust is a pain to get. Seriously, fairies are kind of bitches, to put it simply), and to top it all off, he doesn’t mix it as thoroughly as he should’ve.

All rookie mistakes, really, and they all culminate to form one big magical catastrophe that takes the form of a humanised Dream.

See, the original potion is supposed to turn humans into their spirit animal. An extremely popular mix, although hard to find ingredients for, and even harder to brew. George has successfully made a bottle or two before, and he guesses that this is karma for being too complacent.

He honestly thought he would get away with the small mistakes he made.

Then the cauldron exploded.

(George had _just_ gotten the newest model of electric cauldron that’s available on the market too. Just his luck.)

Most of the potion poofed into thin air - thank god for small miracles, he supposes - but a bit of residue had gotten onto Dream; on his snout, his coat, his ears.

Did he mention how potent and unstable the potion is when it’s brewed correctly?

Well, as it turns out, it’s even worse when brewed incorrectly.

If it were the normal potion, Dream would have needed to ingest it in order for it to take effect. Unfortunately, things weren’t that easy.

So now Dream is standing before him, as a human. He’s wearing the same brown collar he always wears, but other than that, he’s completely naked.

George lets out something akin to a strangled scream.

Dream’s taller than him. What the fuck?

“Uh, what?” Dream says, staring down at his newly-acquired fingers with an expression of shock.

Okay, and apparently he’s also American? _What the fuck?_

He also has blonde hair, yellow eyes, and freckles. And he has _dog ears._

Grey, fluffy-looking, downy dog ears.

George turns around, face red, and yells, “ _Put some clothes on!”_

_Oh my god. His familiar has become a very naked human and has very real dog ears._

He is suddenly very thankful that Dream isn’t a cat, because he thinks that he might really die if there was suddenly a catboy in his apartment.

He vaguely senses him hurry away to George’s bedroom, and only turns around when he’s sure he’s gone.

Mind whirling, he stumbles into a chair.

Holy shit.

  
It only takes a moment or two to collect himself, before he begins cleaning up bits and pieces of broken cauldron and mopping the floor, all while telling himself that he’ll deal with everything else once Dream comes back.

Eventually, he returns, this time fully-clothed, which George appreciates. It’s now at least 70% easier to concentrate on fixing this.

He sits Dream down on a chair and stares at him.

“I think I know how to fix this.”

Dream brightens. “Really?”

“Yep.” George gives him an apologetic smile. “I fucked up the potion, so the antidote should just be the original potion.” He pauses. “I’m really sorry, by the way.”

Dream shakes his head and returns the smile. “It’s fine,” He says, bouncing his leg up and down in a way that weirdly reminds George of how Wolf-Dream wagged his tail. “So when can we start making the cure?”

George grimaces. “That’s the complicated part. I need to replenish my supplies, since I used up a lot of stuff for that one potion. I think the soonest we can get you back to normal would be… maybe in two days?”

Dream grins at that. “Sounds fine to me!”

So they spend the next day or so shopping and trying to find everything they need to make a second potion. Honestly, it’s a pain in the ass starting from scratch, and just as he remembered, fairies are stone-cold _bitches_. Both of them leave that encounter with a measly bag of fairy dust and a dozen bruises. (Fairies know how to hit where it hurts.)

They return home on the first day, half-done with their search, but utterly beat.

Usually, Dream sleeps in the same bed as George, and it works, because Dream is normally a dog half George’s size.

But now, Dream is a human that’s definitely at least 190 centimetres tall.

George tries to give him the bed, saying he can sleep on the floor, but Dream insists, and there’s no way in hell that he’s able to resist when Dream gives him the puppy dog eyes that, together with the twitching dog ears, is a fatal combination.

George relents, and he tries to scoot to the further side of his already small single bed so that Dream has space. It’s just that it’s really hard for him to fall asleep when he’s halfway of the bed, so he stays awake, just staring off to the side and cursing himself for being such a clown and fucking up the potion.

Then Dream crooks an arm around his waist and tugs him all the way back, so George’s back is against his surprisingly broad chest.

_Fuck,_ George thinks, as his heart starts beating faster and faster.

Dream has always smelt of home, and now that he’s human, George can feel the scent emanating strongly off him, can sense the warm aura of his magic simmering beneath the surface.

It’s kind of intoxicating, his smell. George feels like he could bask in it forever, could breathe it in forever -- and then he stops, because _what the fuck, George, this is your fucking familiar._

He opens his mouth to protest at Dream, but then the wolf has the audacity to slap a hand over his mouth and mutter a raspy ‘sleep’ that’s way more attractive than is legal.

And who is George to argue with that?

The next day, they set out again. They don’t talk about the previous night, and things go well. They get all the things they need. Things are looking up. They share a bed again. George tries not to think too much.

Then he wakes up on the day they’re supposed to change Dream back, with a-very-much-a-wolf Dream in his bed, still asleep and snuffling quietly.

Later on, when he wakes up, George sits him down and stares into his dark eyes. “Do you still understand me?”

Dream nods, tail wagging, tongue lolling.

“Okay, great.” George keeps eye contact. “So, I forgot that the original potion wears off in a few days. So it really only makes sense that you changed back to normal after a few days too.”

Dream barks at this.

“Yeah, so…” George nods awkwardly, not quite knowing what to do now. “I’m just - I’m just going to brew it again anyway.”

Dream yips and follows him to his workspace.

That night, as Dream sleeps beside him, snoring quietly, George lies awake.

It pains him to admit it, but he kind of misses Dream as a human. Don’t get him wrong, he loves Dream as his true self, as a wolf, but being in someone’s arms in bed is just… different. George hasn’t had a significant other in a while - hadn’t seen the need to and he’s been busy so it wouldn’t have been fair to them - and Dream’s short transformation had reminded him how lonely he was sometimes, living alone.

Then George tells himself to shut up and sleep, because there’s no way he could ever get that back again, and he wouldn’t willingly make Dream human because he’s lonely. That’d be fucked up.

So he goes about his daily life with Dream at his heels. Everything’s back to normal, until George wakes up two weeks later with a naked, human Dream in his bed.

It happens again, and again, and again - each transformation happens with an interval of two weeks. George takes it as a malfunction of the potion, and eventually comes to accept it.

Well, you know what they say - when life gives you lemons. (Or dogboys, in his case.)

* * *

##### 7.

“I know you from somewhere,” Dream says, voice coming in clear through George’s headphones as he watches the yellow ring around his avatar light up. “I just don’t know where.”

“Likewise, actually.” George hums as he puts down his mug, careful not to spill any on his table, and slumps into his chair. “It’s like this weird sense of déjà vu. I swear I’ve met you before.”

“Yeah, it —” Dream pauses, and static crackles on his end when he speaks again. “It feels like I’ve known you forever.”

George is glad that Dream’s managed to say what George is too much of a pussy to express himself. 

(Also, he’s just really relieved he’s not the only one feeling this way.)

He glances to the side, at his nightstand, where he knows a ticket to _Orlando, Florida_ , is sitting, just biding its time. He forces himself to look back at his monitor.

“Same here.”

#####  _[ end ]_

**Author's Note:**

> list of aus for anyone whos confused:
> 
> domestic bliss  
> mermaid  
> college / uni  
> coffeeshop  
> high school au  
> magic / urban fantasy  
> canon compliant
> 
> domestic bliss!au is a short one based on domestic bliss by glass animals because my bb mentioned wanting someone to write that as a fic??? but its Domestic Abuse ?? So Like ,, i don't think i could've covered something like that im sorry im just not that good at writing plus i like fun stuff aha  
> dear evan hansen!au was supposed 2 be in here too but like , , i Can't
> 
> also i’m rlly sorry if #6 seems rushed bc it Is ahah ,,, i actually had plans to elaborate more on dogboy!dream and stuff but i was running out of time and i had a deadline so yes i apologise


End file.
